


The Mark

by coveredbyroses



Series: Birthday Drabbles 2018 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hair-pulling, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 07:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16214660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: The mark is hungry.





	The Mark

“You and Sam stay the hell away from me. Next time I won’t miss.”

The words echo in your head, Dean’s voice a near-growl as he stomps away from the beaten and bloodied angel. Your fingers curl tight around the iron railing, your heart thundering in your ears.

You’d spent the last week in Ruidoso, New Mexico at Sam’s request. Dean had been getting worse, much worse—the mark’s influence whittling the hunter into an emotionless, blood-thirsty husk of a man. Sam suggested you take a few days, remove yourself for a little while; he was onto something, had a plan.

But then he’d called you at the dead of night, voice breathy and shaking in a way you’d never heard before. Charlie was dead. You’d dropped everything, floored it back to Lebanon in impossible time.

You’d immediately freezed at the bunker’s entrance when you’d heard the masculine grunts, bone-breaking punches. Your brain is telling you to run, just open the door and sprint for it—but your bleach-white knuckles stay glued in place.

You hear heavy boots thumping across the waxed floor, see his movement from the corner of your eye. He stops, head tilts back as murder-crazed eyes lock onto your statued stance.

“You too?”

Fuck it. Run.

Your head spins as you turn, hand grasping the door handle—

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

Holy shit, he’s fucking  _chasing_  you, heavy boots against metal—

You wrench the door open—

SLAM!

The door’s closed, and there’s a warm weight pressing into your back. You look up to see Dean’s blood-crusted hands splayed over the aged metal, trapping you inside the steely cage of his big arms.

You’re panting loud, heavy lungfuls of air shoving past your lips.

“Ya know…” Dean muses, unwinded voice a pebbly rasp over your head. “I expected this from my brother, from Cas. But you?” He huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“No, Dean…this isn’t…it’s not what you—”

“You followed me. Didn’tcha?”

“No!” you gasp, struggling to twist against his heavy mass. “Sam called and I—”

“Oh Sam!” The icy smile in Dean’s voice settles deep in your bones. “Knew that asshole would pull you into this…”

“No—”

“No?” the cursed hunter echoes. “This all you then?” He leans his weight into you, pressing you flush against the cold bulk of metal.

“Dean, stop,” you gasp, blunt fingernails clawing at his blood-streaked shirt sleeves. He fits his hips against your ass, lets you feel the hard lump of solid cock trapped under denim. You steel, suck in a panicked breath.

“I killed so many people today,” Dean murmurs deep. “Gets me all…worked up.” He brings a hand to your hip, fingers slipping up underneath the hem of your t-shirt. “Hard to calm down.” He kneads the fleshy dip of your waist. Fingers smooth to your belly, dip into the waistband of your jeans.

“You wanna help me don’tcha?” he whispers, breath damp-hot. “Wanna help me feel better?”

Shit.

Fingers pull at your pants, work them open. You hiss when he shoves his big hand underneath your panties, rough fingers uncaringly rubbing over your dampening folds.

“Dean, wait—oh goddd!” you whimper, liquid fire flooding your veins when two thick fingers suddenly  _plunge_  into your slick channel.

He fists a hand in your hair, pain blooming over your scalp when he yanks back—“Gonna fuck you right here against the door,” Dean says, voice thick, words urgent. He pushes the heel of his palm hard against your clit.

“Gonna fuck ya til this mark shuts the hell up.”

Silence.

“Then I’m gonna fuck ya some more.”


End file.
